sweater hanging off the hook on the back of the door and I guess he realizes that the bum in the T-shirt drinking from the faucet is actually the fuck he’s looking for.Which is the exact same moment that my eyes flick up to the mirror and see the back of his shocking red head in the open door of the stall.
The element of surprise is an amazing thing and, as has been documented many times, can be the decisive factor in even the most lopsided conflict. In this case, we get the drop on each other and it produces a kind of tableau. I straighten, water running down my chin and onto the front of my T-shirt, but I haven’t had time to turn, while he has spun neatly on his heels to face me. So I look at the mirror, straight through the yellow lenses of his goggles and into the reflection of his eyes. He stares back. There’s a cut on his chin and scuff marks on his otherwise flawless red jacket and, somehow, I just know that he’s more pissed about the condition of his vinyl than his face. I slowly wipe water from my mouth and chin. We are in a bathroom. Someone could walk in at any moment.
– I talked to Roman. I told him I was getting the key. I told him I’d call him.
He blinks behind those goggles.Slowly.
– Fuck Roman.
I spin and backpedal at the same time. I’m bigger than he is, but for it to do me any good I need room. He dances in toward me as I lift up onto the balls of my feet, tuck my chin, and bring my fists up. He skips back just a bit, keeping his hands loosely balled down by his hips. I want to stay mobile, but the boots I’m wearing slow my feet down, so I’m doing my dancing with my head and upper body,keep the target moving. The tight space plays to his size, but if I can keep some distance between us, I might have a chance. He darts in, trying to come inside my guard and I pop out a jab to keep him away. Before my arm is fully extended he hits me three times.
They’re tight little punches that pepper my lower ribs. And that’s about it for boxing. I flinch back, ducking and turning, and he just plants a good one right on my wound. I give a sound halfway between a scream and a gasp and my body twists back toward the pain, and he flattens his hand into a spear point and drives it into my solar plexus. I fold. He grabs me, puts me into some kind of hold, spins me and drives me back into the stall, kicking the door closed behind us.
– Fuck Roman.
He’s got me pressed face first against the wall across from the stall door. He’s knotted the fingers of his right hand into the fingers of bothmine in some fuckingShaolin Super Death Grip. And as a bonus, he’s digging the thumb of his left hand into my wound, living up to all the clichés of the Asian torture master.
– I want the key.
– Yeah, I got that part.
He digs the thumb in a little harder and I bite my lip.
– The key.
– Yeah, look, I told Roman-
He gives me the thumb and does something to my hands and I swoon. My knees buckle and all the air goes out of me, my vision blackens and I only stay up because he keeps me there.
– I’m just gonna kill you right now. Right now, just kill you and find the key on my own. Now fuck Roman. I want the key.
– I don’t have it. I didn’t get it yet.
– Where is it?
– I gave it to a friend.
– What friend? We know all your friends. Which one?
They know all my friends.
My boxing instructor, he’s a badass. He also teaches street fighting. When I came to him to start boxing, he asked me why I wanted to study and I told him that I had trouble in the bar from time to time and wanted to be better equipped to handle it. He took me on for the boxing but suggested I take some of his other classes as well. He thought they might serve my needs better. And you know what? He was so right.
I shift against the wall and gasp like I’m trying to get room to breathe. Red moves his feet back a bit for better leverage and I lift my left foot and rake it down his shin and slam it onto his instep. His upper body lurches back, but he keeps his grip. I snap my head straight back. I’m too tall to plant it in his nose like I’d like to, but I catch him a good one on the forehead. And before I can think about the pain that shoots through my own skull, I crack him again. This time his face is turned up and something goes mushy against the back of my head and he lets go.
I lurch to the right and turn. He’s slumped against the stall door and his eyes have gone funny. I’ve evened the score on broken noses. His looks pretty munched and it’s streaming blood as he slides all the way down to the floor. I take a quick step across the stall and kick him once in the head to make sure he doesn’t get up and hurt me again.
I grab my sweater and jacket, push him aside and take off. On the escalator, I pull my clothes back on and then I’m in the lobby, heading for the door. I pass the ticket guy andhe waves at me.
– Hey! Hey, if you’re looking for your friend, he just went down looking for you.
And I’m through the door and back out on the street.
I feel great. I hurt. My wound hurts, my nose hurts, my ribs and gut hurt, my hands hurt, my feet hurt. Man, I hurt everywhere. But I feel fucking great. It’s close to 5:00 now, just starting to get a little dim here in the city and I bounce down the sidewalk, heading back to Paul’s. There’s some blood trickling down the back of my neck, but it’s not mine and that makes me feel even better. If Red was working solo today, then my plan with Roman still holds. And I’m gonna just assume that’s the case.Like I have a choice.
When I get to Second Avenue, I head up to 14th Street and then turn east toward Alphabet City.And how about this? There’s my Love Stores bag still on the sidewalk where I dropped it. I pick it up and everything is still inside. I stand there on the sidewalk with a big shit-eating grin on my face. Sometimes, baby, you just eat the bear.
I trot happily down the street to Avenue B, take a right and cruise into Paul’s. A few more folks have come in to warm up for happy hour and I get a nice chorus of greetings. I nod and smile as I head for the bathroom in the back and toss the carton of Marlboros to Lisa behind the bar, still sipping her drink.
– What took you so long, Sailor?
– Just had to stop in somewhere, baby.Just had to stop in.
– Hey, I only needed a pack, Hank.
– No problem, baby.
– Well, thanks. When you get out of the john, I’m gonna buy you a soda or something.
I smile at her and go into the bathroom and lock the door. Out in the bar the jukebox is playing Joe Cocker, his cover of “With a Little Help from My Friends.” I hum along while I check myself over. First, I clean Red’s blood off the back of my head. Then I strip the bandage from my nose and take out the little gauze plugs I’ve been using to prop it up. It looks stable at this point, so I just clean up the flakes of dried blood and leave it alone. My wound is another matter. It’s oozing blood again. I clean it and dry it off as best I can, slap some gauze over it and tape it down. I look at the bottle ofVicodin. I can have two an hour, but they’ll make my head foggy as hell. I take one out of the bottle, bite it in half and dry-swallow it. The adrenaline is wearing off and I’m starting to crash from the fight high, but I still feel pretty damn good. I look myself over in the mirror; no doubt about it, I’m a wreck. But I’ll hold together for now.
Back in the bar, the bell for happy hour has rung and things are starting to cook. Tim is down at the end of thebar, getting a quick one in before he does his evening deliveries. Some of my other regulars are around now, too. I get a lot of back pats and commentary about the nose.
– Ali! Hey, Ali!
– What’s the other guy look like?
– Did you get the license on that truck, Sailor?
I laugh it all off and pull up a stool next to Tim. He gives me the once-over and shakes his head.
– Jesus.
– Yeah.
– Jesus.
– I know.
– Man, you need to make some healthy life choices but soon.
